ther and son to the farm at Far Hills, N.J.

It was obvious that the priest could not indulge in his love for fast
horses, and make regular visits to the stock farm in his priestly
robes, as he knew it would cause considerable comment; so this priest
suggested to Peck that Mrs. Kipp be called "Mrs. Geo. West," and that
it be given out to the neighbors that she was the wife of a drummer
for a large mercantile house in New York, and further stated that he
could visit this woman as "George West," and not create any comment.

The trainmen became acquainted with this priest and considered him a
"good fellow," as he was always smoking and played the part of a
"drummer" in an elegant manner, and these trainmen came to know "Geo.
West" as Peck's partner in the race horse business.

The merchants about Far Hills knew this priest as the husband of
"Mrs. West," and when this priest would put in his appearance at Far
Hills, the neighbors, of course, thought it was nothing more than
natural that "Mrs. West's" husband should come to see her whenever he
could get an opportunity to get off of the road.

The accounts for the supplies of the household were billed sometimes
to "Geo. West" and sometimes to Jos. C. Peck, thus you will see that
Priest Sander acknowledged by these bills that he was "Geo. West."

This story got to be noised about, and the Protestant element of
Brooklyn as well as Priest Sander's flock became very much interested
in the tale, and sent a reporter out to interview Jos. C. Peck, and
the first question this reporter asked him was, "Is that the picture
of your sister?" pointing to a portrait of the woman hanging on the
wall. "No," he replied. "That is Mrs. West." The reporter asked if it
was not the picture of Mrs. Mamie Kipp. Peck hesitated, his lips
trembling, and he began to look very nervous, then he gave way
completely and said: "Yes, it is Mrs. Mamie Kipp." "How does she come
here under the name of 'Mrs. West,' and who is 'Mr. West?'" was then
asked, which Peck refused to answer.

With these facts in hand, the reporter returned to Brooklyn and
sought Priest Sander in his parlor, in his parish residence, and the
first question he asked him was this: "You own a trotting horse out
at Far Hills, N.J., don't you?" The answer was, "Yes." "Don't you own
a string of trotting horses?" The answer was, "Certainly not! Who
told you that?" The reporter replied, "Oh, no; you don't own a string
of horses as Priest Sand